The New Life
by anagram29
Summary: After graduating from college, Emma Hawthorne accepted a job in Seattle, Washington as a reporter for the Seattle Times. Five years later, she's made a new life for herself complete with friends, a thriving career, and even a boyfriend. But what will happen when a certain Stewart Chadwick turns out to be her new co-worker?
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One: In Which Emma Meets Her New Partner_

Disclaimer: All rights to the _Mother-Daughter-Book-Club_ series belong to Heather Vogel Frederick.

I stare at the darkening skyline of Seattle, the Space Needle in the distance and tall buildings surrounding it and beyond that the sparkling water of Lake Washington. Even after five years of living here, I sometimes still can't help but marvel at the how amazing it is to live in a city that's right on the water.

A pair of arms wrap around my waist and I can't help but jump. "I thought you were just putting on the stereo. You've been gone for ten minutes," David says.

I twist around and stand on my tip-toes to give him a light peck on the lips. "I was just watching the sun go down," I tell him.

David shrugs. As a Seattle native, he's unimpressed by the sights that so often awe me. "Fun. Do you want help picking some music?"

"Sure," I say, handing him my iPod.

A moment later the first notes of Al Green's "Let's Stay Together," float from the speakers next to me.

"Good choice," I say, smiling at him. "Let's go back to the dining room."

David takes my hand and we head into the cozy dining room where our friends Janelle and Gabriel are sitting at the table, the remains of a fruit tart in front of them. Since I left the room has gotten noticeably darker so I flip on the overhead light and then dim it.

Once we're seated, Janelle leans towards me, her brown hair falling over her face. "So, Emma," she begins. "You were almost two hours late to dinner on a _Sunday_. Do tell us why."

I laugh not because what she said was particularly funny, but because she's so unsubtle. Janelle and her boyfriend Gabriel were my first friends in Seattle (even though they weren't a couple then) and we've remained close ever since, easily expanding to include David, who I've been with for three years. I'm used to her mannerisms and bluntness.

"I got held up at—" I begin to explain.

"—work," Janelle finishes for me, rolling her green eyes. "That's what you say every time!"

"And it's true every time," I counter, grinning. I turn to Gabriel who is tall and lean with close cropped black hair. "Sorry I was so late. It is your birthday after all."

He waves it off. "It's fine. We all get busy once in a while. And if Janelle's giving you a hard time,"—he lowers his voice to a stage whisper—"ignore her."

"Hmph," Janelle says, playfully swatting her boyfriend before asking me: "Is there any chance of you two being able to go out for a drink with Gabe and me later next week?"

"That sounds good," I say. "What do you think, David?"

His brow furrows. "Are you sure you'll be able to make it? Last time we made plans you had to stay late and skipped the whole thing."

I shrug. "It should be getting better soon. My boss told me that they just hired a guy that'll be my partner for my articles so I still have time for my editorials."

"You've worked for them for almost five years. Why are they suddenly giving you a partner?" Gabriel asks me curiously.

"Are you implying something about my writing?" I tease him. "But to be honest I'm not really sure. Still, I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Neither am I," David adds. "Maybe I'll actually get to see my girlfriend once in a while."

I give him an apologetic look. A year ago I was promoted and now write my own column as well as doing regular reports. It's a lot more interesting now, but it definitely has increased my work load. I have three news articles and a 4000 word editorial due each week meaning I usually stay late to try and keep ahead of my deadlines.

"And maybe _I'll_ be able to see my best friend," Janelle says, mock glaring at me. "Because lately she seems never to be around."

"I don't even know how we're friends," I say mournfully, but there's a half smile on my lips. "We literally have nothing in common."

"Except everything!" Janelle cries dramatically.

"Does that even make sense?" David asks, looking confused.

"Nothing Janelle says makes sense," Gabriel points out. "But we love her anyway."

"That's very true," I agree.

* * *

Two hours later Janelle and Gabriel have left, leaving David and me to clean up the dishes.

"You can go," I tell David. "I know you have to work tomorrow. It is a Monday after all."

"I'm not going to leave you with all the dishes," he argues. "That wouldn't be fair, especially since I made most of the mess."

"Most men would jump at the chance to be excused from doing the dishes," I comment, leaning against the counter in my tiny kitchen, watching him move around cleaning up.

"I'm not most men," he quips while rinsing a soapy dish under hot water.

"Very true."

David is in fact every woman's dream man. He has the looks of a god with a tall, muscular frame, a chiseled profile, bronze hair, and a great personality. His job as a pretty well-known actor means he practically oozes charisma and charm and could have anyone he wanted.

Sometimes I wonder how I lucked into this relationship. When I met him I was a twenty-three year old trying to make ends meet. He was a twenty-five year old up and coming actor who had ducked into the bookshop where I had been working to get away from the press. The only thing we had in common was that we were both fresh out of long-term relationships. We soon found that we enjoyed each other's company and soon became a couple.

Even though we've been together for three years we're taking it slow. We haven't moved into together or gotten engaged or anything. Several times I've wondered if we should move our relationship forward, but something has always stopped me. A nagging voice in my head always suggests maybe Stewart is the reason for my hesitance, but I always brush it away: thinking about that is too painful.

"Earth to Emma," David says in a sing-songy voice.

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I zoned out," I laugh, trying to clear my head.

"Apparently," he says. "Anyway, the kitchen is all clean so I should probably get going. It's almost midnight."

"Oh, right," I say, still disorientated from my thoughts. "I'll see you tomorrow night for dinner?"

"Definitely." He leans in for a kiss and doesn't pull away for a few minutes.

"All right," I say, pushing him towards the door. "Time for you to get going."

He leaves with another wave, and I shut the door behind him. I check my clock. It's twelve fifteen and morning will come too soon. After turning off the kitchen lights, I tidy up my living room a bit and wipe down the dining room table. Finally I pull on my pajamas and fall into bed, vaguely noting that it's begun to rain.

* * *

The next morning my alarm goes off at five-thirty.

"Ugh," I groan and roll over, nearly falling on the floor in the process.

Reaching towards my nightstand, I grope around for the snooze button, craving a few more minutes of sleep. Instead, I knock over a glass of water which runs down my wrist. I leap out of bed, cursing and shaking my wet arm. _Mental note: in order to wake up quickly, pour water on self_.

Grumbling about what a terrible start to the morning I've had, I stumble off to the bathroom where I shower. I then pad into the kitchen in a bathrobe, my wet hair around my shoulders, to make myself some coffee and breakfast. Two cups of coffee later, I'm decently alert enough to dry my hair and straighten it without being a hazard to myself.

Reaching into my closet the only work suitable clothes I can I find are a pencil skirt and blouse which is fine since I'm only going to be in the office today. Pulling them on with a pair of heels, I grab my purse and head out the door, proudly noting that I'm fifteen minutes early, only to return after getting all the way downstairs because it's raining cats and dogs and I forgot my umbrella.

Needless to say, by the time I get to work I'm grumpy. I find my cubicle and dump all my stuff down on the empty desk while I sort my own out. Just as it's eight on the dot, I'm settling down to work on my latest article when I hear my name.

"Hawthorne!" Gregory Hobson, my boss barks.

"Yes?" I answer.

"Why aren't you up front waiting?"

"Waiting for what?" I ask blankly, desperately trying to remember what I might be forgetting.

"Your partner is going to be here any minute!" Hobson snaps. "You know, the one you've been asking about for the past six months."

"Oh!" I leap out of my chair, smoothing down my skirt. "I'll go to the front desk right now."

"Too late," he says gruffly. "The guy's already here. I asked Miranda to bring him through."

I nod respectfully. No point in upsetting Hobson anymore than I already have.

After a moment of peering over cubicle walls, Hobson nods approvingly. "Here he comes. Dressed for the job, too," he says.

I can hear Miranda, the receptionist, is blatantly flirting with the new guy. He must be pretty good looking if she's being that obvious. She's usually pretty picky about the guys she's seen with.

Miranda, who is tall and slender with long black hair, appears in the entrance to the cubicle where Hobson and I are standing. She's talking over her shoulder. "And this is your new cubicle. If you need anything just let me know."

She steps aside and heads back to her desk, fluttering her lashes all the while. I mentally throw up.

Hobson steps in front of me, blocking my view of the new guy. I try to look around him, but it's useless. He's way taller than me, not to mention pretty wide.

Hobson offers his hand. "Welcome to the Seattle Times news office. I'm Gregory Hobson. We talked on the phone. I'll be your new boss here."

I can the two men shaking hands. At this point I really want to see what the guy who I'll be working with looks like. But what he says next freezes me completely.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Hobson. I'm Stewart Chadwick."

* * *

_A/N: So this has been floating around my head for a while, but I had to rewrite it four times for it to really take shape. I'm not sure if I want to continue this story or try other writing with other characters from the MDBC. To decide, I'm going to put up a poll on my profile with summaries of other stories I'm considering writing. If you all are lucky, I might even try my hand at writing two stories at once!_

_I apologize for any mistakes. I just wanted to get it out, and if I continue, I'll edit it._

_Please Read and Review! Every review makes me incredibly happy!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two: In Which Emma Suffers Multiple Disappointments _

Disclaimer: All rights to the _Mother-Daughter-Book-Club_ series belong to Heather Vogel Frederick.

I feel as though my world is crashing down around me. Literally. I've spent the past five years building a life that's mine and now Stewart Chadwick is not only in Seattle, but he's going to be working at the same newspaper, on the same articles, in the same _cubicle_.

Hobson is still talking to Stewart, informing him of workplace policies and what his job consists of. Then he turns sideways so he can introduce me. "Chadwick, this is Emma Hawthorne. She's your partner which means she'll be working alongside you when you write up articles and interview people."

Stewart steps forward to shake my hand and I can see he doesn't look nearly as shocked as me. "Oh, Emma, hi." He turns to Hobson. "Yeah, Emma and I go way back. We grew up in the same town and worked on the school newspaper together."

I'm surprised to see that Hobson looks, well, gleeful. He claps his hands. "Well that'll be great because that means you already have experience working with each other."

I force a smile which feels more like a grimace. "Yeah, I guess so."

Hobson claps his hands again. "All right, I'll leave you two to work things out." Glancing at the second desk in the cubicle which is covered with my stuff, he adds, "Hawthorne, you might want to make some space for Chadwick there."

"Of course," I mutter, watching his back reproachfully as he heads back to his office. Why does he like Stewart so much? He barely knows him.

Stewart and I are left in an awkward silence. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants and he's looks down at his shoes and I take the chance to observe him out of the corner of my eye. His blonde hair is neatly trimmed and he looks freshly shaved. A neatly pressed suit and a pair of shiny black shoes complete the professional look, a stark contrast to when I last saw him five years ago. And as much as I try to stop them, my eyes wander to his left hand. My heart does a little tap dance routine when I notice there's no ring, and I'm immediately cross with myself.

"So it's nice to see you again," Stewart finally says, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

"Oh, don't pretend this is some kind of happy, normal reunion," I snap, still annoyed by the fact my subconscious got excited when I noticed he wasn't married. "Why are you here anyway?"

His gray eyes widen innocently and he has the audacity to look offended. "I'm here to start my new job," he says.

"And so it's just a _coincidence_ that you end up at Seattle working as a senior reporter with me?" I ask waspishly.

Stewart shrugs. "I needed a new job and this seemed like a good opening. Besides, I have a thing for ferry boats and Seattle has them."

"Please you totally took that from Grey's Anatomy," I snort, even though I'm feeling a tinge of nostalgia. Back when we were in college we'd make a point of watching Grey's Anatomy together every week. "So you had absolutely no idea I was working here," I continue skeptically.

"I took the job and then to see what I was getting into I bought a copy of the paper and boom, there was your column. E.J. Hawthorne," he says with that little smile on his lips again.

I frown. When did that habit start? I can't remember him doing that when we were dating.

"Fine, since you're here and clearly not going anywhere, you may as well help me with this article," I say, deciding it's not worth my time to argue with him anymore. I may as well let him help with the work load.

"Sure thing," he says, striding towards his desk. "Mind if I move this stuff?"

"I'll do it," I say crossly, and with a sweep of my arm I've gathered my bag and all the papers and put them on the floor. I then rifle through a file draw that's next to my desk and pull out a thick stack of papers in a manila folder. Dumping them in front of him I explain, "This is about that CEO who committed fraud. In there are all the statements I've collected and a rough draft of the article that's due in two days."

"Thanks," he replies stiffly and immediately begins to sort through the folder.

I watch him critically for a moment and then sit at my own desk where I begin to type up my column which is about the pros and cons of healthcare. Not very original, but something a lot of people are interested in. However, I can barely concentrate since Stewart is sitting barely two feet away. The cubicle is tiny and most of the noise from the rest of the office is muffled so I can hear everything: the rhythm of Stewart's breathing, the faint rustle of the papers, and the brush of fabric when he moves his arms. Something else that I find highly distracting is the scent of his cologne, something I remember vividly from when we were dating.

I realize I'm staring at my computer screen, not doing any work and contemplate heading to the break room to get a coffee. Before I can leave, though, Stewart turns around, holding my rough draft of the article.

"You hand write your articles?" he asks incredulously.

His tone, which I take to be condescending, rubs me the wrong way. "Yeah," I say defensively. "Is there anything wrong with that?"

"No, um nothing at all," he backpedals quickly and I can tell he's searching for an explanation. "It's just that back at my paper in New York, my editor required that we type our drafts so it would be easier for him."

"Well, you're not in New York anymore," I say coldly, staring him down with my hands on my hips. "Right now, I'm choosing to hand write my articles because it's easier for me to think things through. But if you care so much then you're welcome to type it up and email it to me."

Stewart stares at me, his mouth hanging open. I'm not surprised. I rarely speak so sharply and I'm already regretting it since I know at some point I'm going to have to apologize. Spinning on my heel, I stalk out of the cubicle and towards the break room, glowering. How can he evoke such a reaction when he's barely been here an hour?

The break room is empty and quiet, save for the humming of the vending machine. I throw myself into a chair and cover my face with my hands. What is _wrong_ with me? _Pull yourself together, Emma,_ I tell myself sternly. _All you have to do is act professionally so it's clear that you only think of him as a coworker. _Nothing_ more. _

I groan. It's impossible: Stewart has always brought out the strongest of my emotions, both good and bad. I'm just going to have to take things one day at a time and deal with whatever comes my way.

"Tough day already?" asks a voice. "It's only nine o'clock."

I glance up. Standing over me is Imogen, the editor and a friend of mine. She's tall and thin with close cropped blonde hair and sharp blue eyes.

I give her a wry look. "Time is irrelevant to my problems."

"Well there's nothing a cup of tea won't help," she says, switching on the kettle before settling down across from me, crossing her long legs.

"You sound like my mother," I say with a chuckle before growing serious. "And I usually agree, but this time tea won't fix anything."

"I said help, not fix," Imogen corrects me. "Feel like talking about it?"

I shake my head. "Not really, but thanks for offering."

I haven't told anyone besides Jess what happened between Stewart and me five years ago that caused me to take the offer in Seattle. It's always felt too private to share, and now I have even less enthusiasm for the idea: I don't want people to think Stewart and I are starred crossed lovers or something.

Imogen shrugs easily. "Well, if you need to you know where to find me."

Sometimes it's nice to friend who'll offer to help if you need it, but doesn't pry if you don't accept it. In that way she's the opposite of Janelle. If Janelle saw me now, she'd practically be on top of me, trying to figure out what's wrong. However, they both share some similarities such as the fact they're both amazing friends and have always supported me when I needed it.

The kettle goes off, and I grab a mug from the cabinet and an Earl Grey tea bag. Pouring the hot water, I glance over at Imogen who's scanning an old newspaper that was left on a nearby table.

"Since we both know my day's terrible, let's talk about yours," I say. "Got any interesting articles?"

Imogen puts the newspaper down. "Not really. They're all just updates on things that have already been written."

"Fun," I say, only half kidding. Right now I'd take reading boring articles over going back to my cubicle and facing Stewart.

She rolls her eyes and checks her watch. "Speaking of which, I should be getting back to work. I'll see you later."

"Bye," I say, wrapping my hands around my mug.

Now that Imogen is gone there's no point in stalling anymore so I slowly head back to my cubicle.

Upon hearing my footsteps, Stewart looks away from his computer. "Listen, Emma. I'm really sorry about being so rude about handwriting thing. It was out of line."

"It's fine," I reply. "And I apologize for being so short with you earlier." The words feel like glue in my mouth. "I'm just having a bad day." _Because of you_, I silently add, but keep my face impassive.

"We all have off days," Stewart says offering a tentative smile. "Anyway, your handwriting is neat so I might just add on. Is that okay?"

"Sure," I say, settling myself down in my chair.

The rest of the day passes in relative peace. Stewart and I are polite to each other, keeping our conversations limited to work-related topics. When it's necessary to work in the same space, we allow a careful foot of space between us and keep eye contact to a minimum.

Still, at some points I find myself reminiscing about high school and college or wondering what he's been doing for the past five years. When I realize what I'm doing, I excuse myself and head to the bathroom where I pat my face with a wet paper towel and lecture myself sternly about professionalism.

By five o'clock, I'm more than happy to pack up my things and make a beeline for the door, comforted by the fact David will be waiting for me when I get home.

However, as I pass Hobson's office, he calls out to me. "Hawthorne! A word if you please."

I step into his office which is piled high with books and papers. He's sitting at his desk, drinking a mug of coffee.

"Yes, sir?" I ask, wondering why he called me in.

"Did you have a good day?" he asks, watching me carefully.

"Yes, sir," I reply.

"And what do you think of your new partner?"

I pause, trying to be diplomatic. "I think we have the potential to work very well together."

He snorts. "Potential?" he says sarcastically. "I'd say you work well together right now. In fact, I think you two will end up being my star duo."

"What makes you think that, sir?" I ask politely.

"Don't play dumb, Hawthorne," he says. "The two of you used to read each other's work all the time, not to mention you helped run a winning mayoral campaign."

I gape at him. "How did you know?"

"Ever Googled yourself?" he asks me. I shake my head mutely. "Type in 'Emma Hawthorne' and once you get past your articles for the Seattle Times and all the ones about you and that actor, there are only about thirty articles about Lily Wong for mayor and her talented campaign managers."

A realization dawns on me. "You knew that we knew each other. You played dumb when Stewart said that we worked on the school paper," I accuse him.

He shrugs. "Guilty. I read some of the articles. They were pretty good."

I glare at me and am about to snap at him when I remember he's my boss and is responsible for my paycheck.

"So don't screw it up with Chadwick," he warns. "Together, your articles will be top-notch."

I nod stiffly. "Very well. May I leave now?"

"Go, and be prepared to work tomorrow," he says.

I stalk out of the building fuming. Hobson knew Stewart and I worked together? And he didn't tell me in advance who my partner was?

_To be fair,_ the rational voice in my head says, he didn't you two had a nasty break-up. _He just knew you worked well together and wanted to have strong writers for his paper. _

_Shut up_, says the angry part in me. _I don't care!_

Fortunately, the bus pulls up right as I get to the stop, and there's no traffic on the trip home. Unfortunately, when I step off the bus, my right foot gets submerged in an ankle deep puddle left over from this morning's rain.

Swearing, I hobble over to a bench where I check out the damage. It's obvious that my tights are ruined, but I think I might be able to salvage my shoe. I start home, wincing as my right foot squishes uncomfortably each time I take a step. Finally, I reach my building. I stumble gratefully into the lobby, waving away the doorman who comes to help me.

Stabbing the elevator button, I wait impatiently for the doors to slide open, eager to see David. However, when I finally get upstairs, my apartment is empty. Frowning, I wonder if he's running late. It's not until after I shower and change into casual clothes that I notice the red light flashing on my landline. It's a new voicemail from David.

"Hey, Em. I tried calling your cell, but I guess it's on silent or something. Anyway, I know we were supposed to have dinner tonight, but I need to stay late to re-shoot some scenes for the movie. You know the movie biz. Anyway, I'm sorry that I have to cancel, but I'll make it up to you tomorrow. Love you."

I check my cell phone and sure enough there are three missed calls from David along with several work emails.

I sigh, disappointment weighing me down. First I find out that Stewart is my new partner, then Hobson reveals that he hired Stewart on purpose, and then I stepped in that puddle. And now David, the one person I counted on to make me feel better, has to work late? How could this day get any worse?

* * *

_A/N: So I've decided to continue with this story for two reasons. First, I really like writing about Emma and second, it's a different kind of story than my other ones. _

_Just so people know, Emma and Stewart, although the characters we know, might be acting OOC. This is a deliberate choice: they've grown up and aren't the teenagers they are in the books. They have a different outlook on life and have to deal with new situations. _

_Anyway, I got a lot of positive feedback on the first chapter which I'm incredibly grateful for. _

_Guest: I'm definitely going to be trying to update more often than I did for Returning Home, especially if there's a cliff hanger. Thank you for your support! _

_Dahlia Ocean Star: Awww, thank you so much __J__ You don't know how much that means to me to hear that. I'll be starting another story when I post of a few more chapters on this one and get some more votes on my poll. _

_Dess4ever: Thanks! I appreciate the fact you review every chapter. _

_Rebel Belle: I can't wait to read your Stemma story. You actually inspired me to start this one so thank you __J__ Do you have a Fanfic account so I know what to look out for? I agree—anything that involves Stemma is great (they're one of my OTPs). Thank you so much for your review!_

_Keep the reviews coming, guys! I love reading them and knowing that people are enjoying my work! _


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three: In Which an Interview Goes Awry _

Disclaimer: All rights to the _Mother-Daughter-Book-Club_ series belong to Heather Vogel Frederick.

"Morning, sweetheart," says a soft voice in my ear.

"Huh?" I shoot upright from the couch where I fell asleep after getting David's voicemail and my head ends up colliding with something hard. "Ouch!"

"Jesus, Emma," David says, mock glaring at me while rubbing his chin. "How is your head so hard?"

"It's morning?!" I ask him, panicked, ignoring his comment. "I need to go get ready for work!"

I jump up from the sofa and am about to head towards the bathroom when a hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me back onto the couch.

"Relax, I was joking," David reassures me. "I thought it would be funny to say it was morning, but apparently all it did was end up hurting me."

"Karma," I tell him smugly, sinking back into the couch. Glancing around I see David has closed the curtains so all the lights from outside are blocked out and that the classical music I put on earlier is still playing softly. "But I was really worried there for a moment."

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I decided to come by after I finished filming. Can you believe I was on set until nine-thirty?"

"That sucks," I say. "Did you have something to eat after?"

"Yeah," he says. "I grabbed a slice of pizza."

"Oh," I reply, surprised. David, being an actor and all, is kind of a health nut and usually insists on eating only healthy food.

"I feel really bad about bailing on our dinner plans. Especially since you were planning to cook and all," David teases me.

I roll my eyes. Since my parents were on opposite ends of the cooking skill spectrum, I had a fifty-fifty chance of being a good cook. As it turns out, I'm still pretty good at baking, but I stink at cooking. David gets a kick out of it and can't help bringing it up on every possible occasion. Still, I forgive him because he cooks most of my meals. When he can't come over or is too tired to cook, I either order takeout or whip up something that is impossible to mess up like salad.

"Oh right," David says. "I almost forgot that your new partner was supposed to start work today. What're they like?"

I nod. I was only planning on telling David that I'd had a bad day, but now that he's asked, I feel weird keeping it from him that Stewart is working with me. Not that he'd understand why that's a big deal. When I moved to Seattle I kept most of my history a secret, only telling my new friends about my family and Jess. Speaking of Jess, she'd be the perfect one to ask about whether I should tell David.

But for now, I decide to be evasive so I answer vaguely. "Oh, yeah. My new partner showed up today. He seems like a hard worker." It's not a lie. I know for a fact Stewart is a very dedicated writer. "I don't think he'll slack off. I just had a bad day."

"Poor Em," David says, wrapping an arm around me.

We sit there for a while, reveling in the chance to relax until I become aware that rain is drumming on my window and that the clock on my wall tells me that it's past one.

"I should be getting to bed. You want to stay over?" I ask David as I stand and stretch.

"That would be great," he replies. "I don't think I have the energy to make it back to my loft."

I grimace sympathetically. David rents a loft that's a half hour train ride away. Even though it's considerably larger and better decorated than my studio apartment, we tend to meet up at my place since it's in a more residential neighborhood, complete with a grocery store, park, and coffee place.

"If you don't mind," David adds. "I'd love to take a shower."

I shrug. "Feel free. I might head to bed, though. I'm exhausted."

He kisses me on the forehead and I watch as his retreating figure vanishes into the bathroom. Wandering into my bedroom, I change into a pair of sweatpants and an old college t-shirt. By the time I've crawled under the covers, David has come in, his hair damp and wearing a pair of PJ pants he leaves in my apartment for times like this.

"I'll make you breakfast," he tells me as he slides under the sheets.

"Sounds good. Can I turn off the light?"

"Mm-hmm," he says sleepily.

As I lean over to turn lamp off, a I feel an arm snake around my waist and I curl up next to David. The next thing I know pale light is filtering through my windows and the space next to me is cold. As I pad out of the bedroom, I run a hand through my curly hair and feel it get caught in the tangles.

David is standing by the stove, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Morning, sweetheart," he smiles at me.

I squint at him and then groan. "How are you so cheerful this early in the morning?"

"I'm just a naturally sunny soul," he says and when he catches my skeptical glance he laughs. "I've had two cups of coffee and a shower," he explains.

"Right," I mumble, shuffling towards the bathroom. "Maybe I'd better do that, too."

"Well, hurry," he calls after me. "I'm making oatmeal!"

An hour later I'm kissing David on the cheek as I gather up my things. "I'll see you tomorrow night for drinks with Janelle and Gabe, right?"

Since David and I have such busy schedules today, we decided to simply forgo seeing each other until tomorrow.

"Yeah," he says. "Now off you go."

I hurry out the door. The past few days have been damp and cloudy and gray so it's a nice change to see that the sky is a bright blue without a cloud in sight. Add that to the fact it's crisp and cool, it feels as though the whole city has been re-energized. I trot along briskly, my mood lifting each time I feel a cool breeze.

When I reach my cubicle I'm relieved to find that Stewart hasn't arrived yet. His desk is empty of all personal effects including the papers he was reading yesterday. I spy them on my desk, neatly organized with a bright green post-it on them.

_Read everything over. Well written article, needs more statements, though. _

I frown. It sounds vaguely patronizing as if I was a student and Stewart a teacher grading some of my work. Crumpling the note into a ball, I toss it into the trash can under my desk. No use in getting angry over something so early in the day.

Just as I'm checking my calendar on my phone to see what I have planned for today, Stewart strides into the cubicle. I'm annoyed to find he still smells strongly of cologne.

"Morning," he says, tucking his briefcase under his desk. "How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," I answer shortly, apparently still a bit miffed about his comment about my article. "And you?" I add with some difficulty.

"Well, I'm not the new guy, so I'm pretty good," he says jokingly.

"Huh," I murmur absent-mindedly before glancing at him. "Good thing you're in a suit. We have a lunch interview scheduled."

"With who?" he asks, settling down at his desk.

"Isobel Wilcox," I tell him. "The secretary of Mr. Holcomb, the guy who was arrested for fraud."

"Right," he nods. "Oh, by the way, I read everything in the file."

I look at him coolly. "Yeah, I saw your note. Hopefully, Wilcox will be the last person we need to interview."

He has the grace to look embarrassed and I smile slightly. At least he knows I can't be told what to do.

At twelve-thirty, the two of us head to a nearby restaurant where I arranged for us to meet up with Isobel Wilcox. We find her standing by the front door, slouched and chewing a piece of gum.

"Hi, Ms. Wilcox," I say, offering her my hand.

"Just call me Isobel," she tells me, giving my hand a quick shake.

"Very well," I smile politely. "I'm Emma Hawthorne and this is my partner Stewart Chadwick. As you know, we're from the _Seattle Times_ and we'd like to interview you."

She shrugs and the three of us head into the crowded restaurant where I find us a secluded booth in the corner where it's not as noisy. As we settle down in our seats, I take the opportunity to inspect the secretary. She's slight with long dark hair and wide set brown eyes which make her look younger than her twenty years. Despite her physical appearance, she looks bored and unimpressed by the fact she's being interviewed. Her eyes dart constantly between Stewart and me as if she's trying to figure something out and her hands are constantly toying with her phone, turning it over and over.

We make polite small talk as we scan our menus and when we finally place our orders with the waiter, Stewart decides to take the lead on the conversation.

"So, Isobel," he starts. "Did you work full time for Mr. Holcomb or…"

"I worked for him part time," Isobel replies, popping a bubble. "On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I was at his office from nine to two. The rest of the time I take classes at the University of Seattle."

"Had you been working for him long enough to notice—"

"Are you guys, like, together or something?" she interrupts Stewart, looking at the careful foot of space Stewart and I have left between ourselves.

"Excuse me?" Stewart asks looking taken aback. I can't blame him. I feel the same way.

"I _asked_ if you guys are like, together," she says looking as though Stewart has just asked something incredibly dumb.

"Why would you think that?" I manage to get out. If this girl who barely knows us can guess about our history then I don't want to even think about how easy it would be for Hobson to figure it out.

"'Cause there's like a huge gap between you guys. Plus, you barely make eye contact and don't even really speak to each other even though you're supposed to be partners working together," Isobel says bluntly.

I raise an eyebrow. "I'm not sure this is relevant to our interview," I say carefully, wondering how I should get the conversation back on track.

"So about Holcomb's attitude—" Stewart says, obviously thinking that ignoring Isobel's comment will be the best method.

Isobel sits back in her chair and folds her arms defiantly. "Look, I'm not going to answer _your_ dumb questions until you answer _mine_."

"Why do you even want to know?" I ask her, exasperated. "You don't even _know_ us!"

She shrugs. "I just want to know. Anyway, you don't have to answer my questions. Just like I don't have to answer yours."

I tilt my head and study Isobel. I can see through her "bored girl" persona to someone who is whip smart and motivated. The only problem is that I never had friends like her so I'm not sure how to manage her.

Isobel stands, settling her bag on her shoulder. "Fine, I guess I'll be leaving now."

"Oh, for God's sake," I snap. Isobel's statement is crucial to our article. "Stay. I'll tell you about Stewart and me."

She sits back down looking smug and Stewart shoots me an uncertain look. I'm not even sure what I'm going to tell her, but I know I'll have to be convincing to satisfy Isobel.

_The truth. _It's been difficult to face over the years and I've done everything I can to run away from it, including moving across the country and making a new life for myself. It's crazy but I'm finding myself wanting to tell this sullen twenty-year old girl the truth about something I've kept from almost everyone, even my boyfriend.

I notice Isobel is watching me carefully and the look on her face as softened to something slightly less closed off. Stewart's grey eyes are calculating.

"All right—" I start.

"Emma!" Stewart butts in. "What are you doing?"

I frown at him before standing up and pulling him up after me. "Excuse us for a moment," I say to Isobel with a tight smile. I then haul Stewart to a dim hallway which leads off to the bathroom. "Just let me tell her the story," I hiss.

"Why?" he shoots back, crossing his arms. "It's none of her business! It's _our_ relationship."

"Because if I don't have her statement our article will be a failure and then Hobson will have my head!" I tell him angrily.

He stares at me for a long moment before saying, "Fine. Tell her" And then with a hint of his humor, he adds, "Just make sure our article is good."

I give him a faint smile and lead him back to our table were we reseat ourselves. Clasping my hands I look at Isobel who is staring back at me. "So, Stewart and I dated in high school and then five years ago…"

* * *

_A/N: So any ideas why Emma and Stewart broke up? To be honest, I still haven't figured it out myself. For the past few days I've been too busy to even think about FanFiction because I just started a new school and have been getting loads of homework so ANY ideas or suggestions would be great! _

_I'm not a fan of how this chapter turned out. It was mostly so you all could see how normal Emma and David are together and a peek at the life they've built together. As for the part with Isobel, I based her off April Ludgate from _Parks and Recreation_ because Stewart and Emma need a reason to face their past. Their conversation will be continued next chapter. _

_Dess4ever: Thanks! I thought that was pretty funny, too. _

_Guest: I'm really glad I'm continuing, too. I'm not sure that I'll be updating on a regular schedule since my life is so hectic right now. _

_Guest: I guess you'll find out next chapter!_

_Guest: I'm trying to post as often as possible and you're right, I _do_ usually post faster with more reviews. Thank you for your support; it means the world to me!_

_Guest: Thank you! I'm really glad you're so into the story! _

_AlanaFaith2: Thank you!_

_Guest: Thanks! Doing my best to update quickly. _


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four: In Which the Truth is Revealed _

"Wait!" Stewart interrupts, holding his hand up.

"What?" I ask, turning to him impatiently. "Whatever you say isn't going to stop me from finishing the story."

He holds his hands up defensively. "I know that. I just wanted to make it clear that I really thought I was doing the best thing for you, for us."

The two of us lock gazes in a battle for…well, I'm not quite sure. We're distracted by Isobel smacking her gum. I tear my stare from Stewart's grey eyes and refocus on Isobel who is twirling a lock of hair, looking bored.

"Anyway," I continue. "Five years ago, the year I graduated from college, I moved back to Concord to be near my parents—and figure out what I was going to with myself. Stewart already had a job in Boston."

"Not a job," Stewart corrects me. "I was a temp who made approximately zero dollars a year."

"We made it work," I tell Isobel, ignoring his comment. "We'd gone to college five hundred miles apart so Concord to Boston was a piece of cake. But then, one day, I called Stewart to see if he wanted to go to dinner and a movie. Imagine my surprise when he says he can't because he's currently unpacking his apartment in _New York City_."

Isobel leans forward, looking intrigued for the first time. "What'd you mean?"

"What I _mean_," I reply cuttingly, "is that Stewart was offered and accepted a job at the _Wall Street Journal_. He also managed to find an apartment and move without telling me."

"I don't get it," Isobel says, shooting a glance at Stewart.

I give a wry smile. "I didn't either. In fact, I still don't."

And that's what annoys me. My relationship with Stewart has so many loose ends, I feel as though I can't truly move on. It's like a loose tooth; it hurts to run your tongue over it, but you do it anyway because you can't help it. Add to the fact that it was incredibly embarrassing to find your longtime boyfriend moved to a different city without informing you, I've never moved past it. I never even told my parents or brother the truth; I lied through my teeth and said we broke up before his move because of the distance.

"Look," Stewart says with a sigh, placing his palms flat on the table. "I knew that if I told you—"

"We'd be able to talk it out?" I cut in, my voice mocking.

"No. I knew that you'd put up a fuss about long distance relationships further apart than Boston and Concord. Like I said, temping doesn't really bring in much of an income. I was offered a job at the _Wall Street Journal_. Do you know how big that is, especially for someone my age?"

"I do!" I reply loudly, feeling an angry flush on my cheeks. "I do! That's why if you'd told me and actually talked about it, I would've told you that you should go, that we'd make it work somehow!"

"Wow, this is intense," Isobel deadpans, back to her usual self.

"I didn't want to take the chance," Stewart fires back, just as loudly.

"The chance of what?" I ask sharply.

"Of not being able to pay off the ring—the engagement ring," he snaps.

The wind is taken out of my sails. _An engagement ring_? I sink into my chair, the words running through my head. But a moment later, I've recovered and am up again, ready to continue my showdown with Stewart. Only I don't have a chance to.

"Excuse me," says the waiter, standing over us, water jug in hand. He looks horribly embarrassed at having to interrupt us. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to quiet down or leave."

My mouth opens and then closes. I become aware that quite a few people have stopped their conversations and are staring at Stewart and me intently. I blush furiously and nod. "Of course, I'm so sorry."

"_So_ sorry," Stewart echoes. "I think we'll take the check now…"

* * *

"Here you are, sir," I say, handing Hobson the final draft of our report.

Stewart and I are standing in Hobson's office, giving him our article so he can see how his "dream team" is working out.

"Hmmm…" he says, flipping quickly through the stapled papers. "Hmmm…" he says again when he reaches the end.

"Is it alright, sir?" Stewart asks, looking slightly anxious.

Hobson looks up and suddenly he's beaming. "It looks fantastic. I knew hiring you would be a good choice, Chadwick."

Stewart smiles politely while I try to obscure the scowl that's on my face.

Putting the article on desk, Hobson leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest, staring contemplatively at the two of us. "So how was it working together?"

I glance sideways at Stewart at the same moment he looks at me and our eyes meet before darting away awkwardly. The walk back from the restaurant was quiet and tense. Back at the office, it was even worse. We were forced to hold stilted conversations about how to complete the article and made sure any accidental glances or touches weren't loading with meaning. To sum it up; it was a complete disaster.

But I'm not about to tell Hobson that; he'll just accuse me of not trying hard enough. So instead, I muster a bright smile. "It was great. I think that we'll be a very effective team."

Stewart gapes at me before catching on and snapping his mouth shut. He turns to Hobson with an equally bright expression. "Of course; I'm sure you'll be pleased with our future work."

Hobson nods. "Great work, you two. You're free to go."

The two of us nod goodbye to him and return to our cubicle where I begin to prepare to leave. Slipping on my jacket, I notice Stewart is sitting at his desk, hunched over some papers with a pen. I frown: is he planning to leave anytime soon? I'm tempted to ask him, but remind myself sternly that it's none of my business. So I leave, still glancing over my shoulder at him.

As I'm boarding my bus home, my phone rings loudly. An old lady sitting near the front shoots me a dirty glance and I fumble to answer it.

"Hawthorne speaking," I say as quietly as I can.

"Hey, Em," says the person on the other side.

"Jess!" I exclaim in delight. I receive another scathing glance from the old lady and lower my voice again. "How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," she answers. "I was just calling because I figured you'd be getting out of work and it feels as though I haven't talked to you in ages!"

"We haven't!" I agree. "Anyway, what's up with you?"

She laughs. "Not much. Just trying to keep afloat, you know?"

Everyone assumed Jess would end up being some sort of scientist and we were all proved right. She decided to become a biochemist engineer. At one point, she tried to explain what she did but all it did was give me a headache. All I know is that it's very difficult and I probably wouldn't be able to do it.

"Tell me about it," I give a rueful laugh.

"Talking of work," she says. "The last time we talked, you were all excited over getting a new partner. What're they like?"

"Oh!" I gasp. "Yeah, I'll give you three guesses who it is."

Jess laughs. "You know I hate guessing games, Em."

"Fine," I relent. "It's Stewart."

I hear a kind of strangled gasp. "Stewart _Chadwick_? As in the Stewart Chadwick who took a job in New York and left without telling you?"

I wince. "Um, yeah, thanks for the reminder. But yeah, it's him. He claims he didn't know I worked for the _Seattle Times_. As if," I scoff.

"Maybe it _was_ a coincidence," Jess says, but she sounds doubtful.

"Anyway," I continue, "we went to lunch today to get a witness statement and it kind of turned into a wreck."

I fill her in about the fiasco at lunch and the resulting awkwardness. When I get to the part about why Stewart moved, she gives a little gasp, and when I tell her about Stewart staying late, she makes a funny little sympathetic noise.

"I can't believe he was going to propose to you," she says, lowering her voice at the last part.

"I know. It's crazy," I reply. "And I have no idea how we're going to do it—work together, I mean. Can we really be within twenty feet of each other and not be at each other's throats?"

Jess sighs. I can imagine her, sitting on her couch at home, twirling her braid around her finger, a crease in between her eyebrows as she thinks. "I'm not sure. The fact you never had closure with him makes it difficult. Today, you found out the real reason he moved, but you had five years to assume the worst."

"Maybe you should've become a therapist instead of a scientist," I joke, trying to take my mind off my next question.

"Maybe," she laughs slightly.

"So, I'm wondering if I should tell David who Stewart is."

"I figured you wouldn't have told him," Jess remarks. "But I think you definitely should."

I gulp. I knew that was what she was going to say, but I'm still dreading the prospect of telling David.

"It'll be fine, Em," Jess reassures me. "It's better you do it now rather than have him assume you're keeping secrets.

"Right," I say firmly. "I'll tell him next time we're alone." I realize the bus has pulled up to my stop. "Listen, Jess, I've got to go. I'll call you soon."

"Bye," she says and then the line is dead.

* * *

"Are you okay?" David, who is sitting on my couch as I pace in front of him, looks concerned.

The two of us are at my apartment after drinks with Janelle and Gabe. I'm determined to keep my promise and tell David about Stewart, but I'm nervous since I'm not sure how he'll react.

I nod quickly. "Yeah, totally. I'm definitely fine. Nothing's wrong," I reply too quickly.

He laughs, the worry lines disappearing. "You're a terrible liar, Em. Just tell me what's on your mind."

"Okay," I say, taking a deep breath. I join him on the couch, angling myself so my knees are touching his. "So, you know how I got a new partner at work?"

He nods. "Yeah, you said he was a hard worker, right?"

"He is. And the thing is, I know that because we grew up together. I've known him since I was like ten."

"Then isn't that a good thing?" David asks, smiling slightly. "An old friend—that's good, right? Since not many people you know live in Seattle?"

I muster a weak smile, hoping he'll be as accepting when I tell him the next part. "It is. The thing is, he's actually my, well, um, we used to date."

David's eyebrows shoot up. I don't blame him; I haven't exactly been forthcoming with details about my life before I moved to Seattle.

"Oh, um, that's fine?" says David, sounding slightly confused.

"It was a long time ago," I rush to reassure him. "I just wanted to tell you to clear the air."

He nods slowly, still looking deep in thought before turning to look at me, his face serious. "And it's over? No spark, no anything?"

I frown. The truth is, I'm not sure. There could potentially be something, but I've got an awesome boyfriend. Why would I want anything else?"

So, I say, "Nope. No nothing. It was a long time ago."

"Good." David leans in and kisses me. When he pulls away, he smiles at me. "You know I love you, right?"

I smile back. "I love you, too."

"So, I've been thinking. We've been together for three years and I think it's time for the next step. Emma, will you move in with me?"

* * *

_A/N: I am SO sorry for the lack of updates! I've been working overtime at school, but hopefully I'll manage to make some time for writing. Anyway, I've been trying to plot out how the story is going to move along and I'm thinking around 15-20 chapters. _

_What did you all think about why they broke up? I had a really difficult time coming up with a good reason, but I hope you all like it. _

_Guest: Nope, no cheating in this story __ I've played out that plot in Returning Home!_

_Guest: I know! I've been dying to update but unfortunately there's just been no time! _

_Guest: Thanks! It's reviews like yours that give me motivation to keep going!_

_Guest: I'm flattered, and I agree: Heather Vogel Frederick _is_ the best! _

_Dess4ever: Thanks, as always, for your reviews and suggestions! _

_Guest: I do actually want to be an author when I grow up, but like you, I'm only 14 so it probably won't be happening for a while! _

_Guest: I did consider making it a pregnancy scare, but I wasn't sure that's the direction I wanted the story to go in. _

_Guest: Thank you! I've been trying to keep the sappiness to a minimum, but eventually there will probably be some. I'll keep Cassidy and Tristan in consideration! _

_Obsessedchick44: Thank you! _

_Guest: Thanks! I ended up using your idea but putting my own twist on it! _

_Thanks for all the reviews! Keep them coming!_


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